The Garden
by Rossignol-X
Summary: Every month he comes to visit her, just to smile and talk. But when she asks the question he's been trying to avoid for all the time she's known him, what choice does he have but to come clean? RoGambit
1. Ring

Welcome one, welcome all!

So I guess I'm not dead, huh? To those of you who are aware of my other work, _Mannequins_, the next chapter is on its way! To those of you have no idea who I am, and will probably forget once you exit out (_after _reviewing, of course), I am E.V.A.N. B., better known as Le Rossignol de la Soiree. And hell yeah, I'm a girl.

A warning to all: this fan fiction is not meant to be a serious epic. It won't dance around the main plot point and mystery, it won't have the regular RoGambit angst, and it won't really be incredibly in depth and spectacular. It's a re-telling of our favorite Southern duo's story, many years after canon. It's meant to explore the characters and who they are, and who they are together. It will consist of TONS of italicized flashbacks, and, by the way, I'm currently working on a companion piece in the X-Evo universe, a one-shot titled "Up To Today".

Plus the chapters will all be very, very short. Because this fic is kinda meant to bring me out of writers block and back into the fan fiction world. Oh, and everything is present tense, so prepare yourself.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own X-Men, Rogue, or Gambit, since they belongs to Marvel. Duh

* * *

They think she can't see past her own small world where nothing makes sense, nothing matters. In some ways they are right. But mostly, it's they -- the ones who take care of her -- who are wrong. 

She sees things, perhaps more clearly than they do. She can look into their eyes, and see the pity, even when she can't hear it. She knows what else they see her as. A child, who seeks solace by wrapping herself up in her mothers' skirt. When they ask her if she wants to walk in the garden, they always say for her to be careful dear, don't trip on anything. Not that it matters. If she so much as scrapes her knee, they will come rushing out from their hiding places where they have been following her from, carrying her right back into her white-washed cage. They never follow, though, if _he _is there.

They had tried, once, long ago. It was one of their first meetings, and the first one in the garden. She herself hadn't been there for too long, a month, maybe two, but she was still glad to see someone foreign inside the brick walls and spiked gates. They were in the court, with the benches and cobblestone paths. They sat down, and she was still slightly uncomfortable with him, not knowing what to say or do. He, on the other hand, was watching her intently, smiling like she was his special Christmas gift he had been asking for since last February. She had only just brought up the courage to say something, when suddenly his smile was gone. The next instant he was barreling over a worker hiding behind the bushes, and she was screaming.

She had never seen him angry before, and this was fury. This was rage. He had pinned the worker beneath him, scowling, with the eyes she loves so much burning. He reached into the brown duster he always wears and pulled out a playing card. Ace of Spades. She wasn't sure what he was going to do, but she knew it'd be dangerous. She backed away.

He must have mistaken it as a sudden fear of him. So to appease her, he tucked the card back into his duster, and stood and spoke to the man, "Never again." and that was it. He never tackled another worker, his eyes never scorched, and his smile would be consistent from then on. Except on their last meeting. Except when she asked him what she had always wondered.

_"Did ya know me?"_

_They had been walking along the walls, she was brushing her fingers against the tamed ivy, and he was staring at her, as always, a slight smile -- which she now believes he never knows he has on -- decorating his face. But as soon as her question was voiced, it vanished. His jaw tightened and he looked away. He never looked away._

_"Why y' ask, _mon chère_? Somet'ing botherin' y'?" He was calm, the questioned voiced soothingly, but she could see his nervousness. It was in his fingers, twitching for something to distract him, like a deck of cards._

_"Ah mean, how else were ya suppos'd ta know Ah was here? Ya have ta know _somethin'_ 'bout me. Like where Ah was born, or anythin' at all."_

_She could see the wheels in his head ticking, trying to come up with an excuse to avoid such a deliberate question. He couldn't. All he could do is distract her, which he knew wouldn't work on something so vital and important to her. So he tried his safest way out: tell half-truths. "I knew y', _chère_, fair 'nough. We worked t'get'er, f'r a pretty long while."_

_"How long?"_

_"'Bout seven years."_

_Her eyes widened in shock. "That long? Then ya _have _ta know 'bout me! Ah -- "_

_He stopped her before the thousands of questions she had bottled up for so long poured out from her skull and into her mouth. "I some t'ings 'bout y', oui, but y' weren't very open 'bout y'self."_

_She took his hand to pull him down to a stone bench -- different from the one he had tackled the worker from -- and he looked back to her. "Tell me. Ah want -- Ah need ta know this." He started to protest, but she let her heart unlock some of her constantly hidden emotions. Her eyes shone with tears, showing hurt, pleading for him to not try and slick his way out of this. "Please."_

_He sighed, and looked to his lap where his free hand rested. He touched her face. "I'll tell y', next time I come. I need t' t'ink about a few t'ings first. Den I'll come here an' tell y'. Anyt'ing y' want,_ d'accord

_She wanted badly to shake her head make him tell her what she needed to know now. But he wouldn't, so she released his hand. "Ya promise y'll come back? Ya won't leave me here, right?"_

_He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Never."_

He is supposed to come back now. Today. Today, she will see him again, and today she will know herself. Today, she already waits outside, lingering beneath a tree in the orchard, knowing he will be there soon, with answers. With her, and who she was. Who she wishes she is.

The sun is casting long shadows when he appears next to her, messenger of her former self. He settles next to her wordlessly, clutching some in his gloved hand. She sees a silver glint between his fingers, and she knows instinctively that it was once hers. She has no words for him, nothing to bridge the canyon between her and the shadow of who she used to be. But she knows he will not speak first.

She swallows, successfully quelling some of her fear and doubts, searches for something to say, and speaks with the confidence she can muster, "You're late." and she can smack herself. But she can't fathom what drove her to say something so, so --

He laughs, and her fears are easily fought away by the happy sound. "Yeah, _chère_, I know."

She blushes looks down to her hands, balled so tightly they became as white as the standard blouses, sweaters, and jeans of her "home". But she has succeeded in retrospect. She has broken the ice. Her next question is smoother, but still delicate: "What's that?"

His hand clenches tighter around the silver thing, as if to make her forget she sees it, and that she knows it must be hers. But he says it anyway. "Yours."

She looked back up at him with a slight smile, and it is not returned. Instead, he wears a look she has never seen on his face, but she can guess what it is. His eyebrows are knitted gently, and his lips purse. Worry. She has seen it enough on the workers to recognize it on anything. He says nothing else, and holds his still-closed hand to her, silently offering her his secret.

She covers his hand with both of hers and pries it open gently. She gasps.

It is a ring. A _wedding _ring.

She sees black.

* * *

Whoa. I bet you all saw that coming. Even if you didn't, can you guess who gave it to her originally? I certainly _hope _so. Otherwise... jeez what are you doing here? 

And I also hope you noticed my extreme efforts not to say either of their names. Not that it matters. 'Cause what other couple has distinctly different southern accents, uses playing cards as weapons, and has eyes that burn?

So, I bet you all believe me now when I say this was gonna be short, huh? Well, I won't keep talking for fear that the A.N.'s will be longer than the actual text.

Bye now! And no Reading and Running! Only Reading and Reviewing is allowed here! Okay, so I'm guilty of the same crime but... I'm just a _teensy _bit of a hypocrite, you know.

E.V.A.N. B.

(But seriously, there's a little button that requires little-to-no effort for you to press, and then review my new fic. Bye for real now.)


	2. Husband

MY CATS! My loveable, beautiful kitties have been given away! _NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!_ My precious, precious...

Well, even though I'm not in the mood, I'll still give you another chapter... my poor, precious kitties...

* * *

She can't think of anything other than how late she must of slept in. Maybe she has had another check-up, and they sedated her again. But it doesn't matter; she opens her eyes and his are staring above her. She is only slightly startled. He has done this, many times. She is never allowed out past nine o'clock, he chooses to sometimes sneak her carefully into the garden, where they would spend the night catching fireflies, hiding from security, and swimming at the coast. Somehow he always brought he back before the sun broke the horizon.

She assumes that he is here for another rendezvous outside, but she glances to her left. A ring...?

It crashes upon her like waves, and she nearly screams, but his voice interrupts her soothingly with "S'okay, _chère, _shh, shh, it's s'okay." He is able to bring her back from hysteria with his promise, and she looks back to him. "Do... d'ya...?" He smiles sadly and removes the glove from his left hand, and reveals a band.

She closes her eyes dizzily and covers her eyes. "So Ah'm... you're... " She peeks between her fingers. "Husband?" she finishes weakly.

"O' t'ree years. Four years, if y' include y're time here." He lifts the ring from the nightstand, and holds it out to her.

It is a test. If she takes the ring, then she accepts her past as his wife, and accepts her future, too, and he will continue with what she wants to know. If she doesn't, then he will leave with it, perhaps forever.

She holds out her hand, and he slips it on, a perfect fit.

Holding it in front of her face, she admires how right it looks on her finger, and how foreign. He suddenly shudders. She snaps up to look at him, and he seems to be crying dry tears. His arms are crushing her before she can ask what's wrong, and his head his buried in her neck. "_Chère... _I've missed y', _chère._"

It's her turn to cry, silently, but with real, cold tears. Does he think she remembers now? Does he think she understands suddenly? She can't help but feel a certain amount of jealousy for who she was. That one seems like a different person now, and she was only a stand-in, wearing the ring that once belonged to herself, yet not herself.

She almost apologizes that she can't be who she was, but he beats her to it, "'M sorry, _chère, _so sorry." Sorry? She doesn't know what to think, what to say, but it doesn't matter because he pulls back and says softly, "It's time f'r us t' go now, _ma petite." _

She echoes him nearly silently, "We need ta go... "

"Home, _chère, _we need t' go home."

* * *

Ha, ha! I said, short. Now, yes, it is incredibly small. But. I'm updating rather fast, aren't I? Normally, I'd write more, but I like this drop-off.

So, until my very next update real soon,

E.V.A.N.

Happy Halloween!


	3. Impossible

Sorry it took so long to update. The stupid damn thing deleted itself. I don't know how. I don't know why. But it did. So, that got me to thinking: I don't want my other stories spontaneously deleted! So, I'm saving them to the documents folder on FF. It keeps 'em safe.

* * *

It has to be impossible. It has to be impossible because she is seated comfortably on a sleek jet, hurtling over the ocean at speeds she had thought were not possible. Because this is _impossible_. But this... this is possible. It is possible because of him.

He, her savior, is beside her. He is silent, but that does not stop her from smiling at him and folding him up in her arms. "How did ya do it? They jus'... they jus' let me out. All you had ta do was... Ah mean... " His own mute presence makes her nervous, and she releases him to fall back into her seat. She gazes out the window, and is once more the ocean amazes her with its vastness. She wonders if it ends. It has to. He is taking her somewhere new. He calls it their home, but she has never seen it. She can't remember it.

She had to have been there. Where is there? It doesn't comfort her that their "home" is something she can't begin to grasp. She doesn't know what to think, except white walls and a garden.

Does it matter? She will live with the only person who ever cared for her. It should be enough. But it isn't. It should be, but it's not. If she had prepared to bombard him with questions before, he would be crushed under the new amount she has now. But only one seems to echo in her head relentlessly: how was he able to get her out so easily?

_She waited outside the office of the Warden nervously. He had walked her to the office as soon as she seemed to understand the notion of his announcement. _

_"Won't be long, _chére. _Jus' gotta clarify a few t'ings," he told her as he left her on a bench by the door._

_Much to her surprise, there were no yelling or loud noises. A mere four minutes later, he came out and offered her a hand. "Ready, _chére

_The truthful answer was 'no', but the beaming smile on his face made her nod her head and accept his hand. _

She looks back to him. He doesn't. She searches his face, and finally lets her eyes fall back to her lap.

For a while, they sit in silence, but the questions swirling in her head makes it uncomfortable. As her confusion mounts, and her comfort falls, she makes her decision.

She half-turns to him, and takes his hand in both of hers. "How did ya do it? They almost never let me outside unless y're there. Ah'm always watched, unless y're there. Ah don't know much, but Ah'm not blind. Not stupid, either. _So, why is tha'? _Why is it tha' y'r word is law there? When ya attacked tha' man, they didn't do nothin' 'bout it. Not a thing. Ah mean, you musta seemed kinda dangerous, with that card thing an' all. So why-- "

"D'ya t'ink I was gon' hurt y', _chére?" _He asks suddenly. He lifts his head, but doesn't meet her eyes.

"What?" she gasps shocked. "No! No, o' course not. It's jus'... they don't let me do much of anythin'. But they never questioned ya. Why? Why not?"

He seems partially nervous, partially relieved. "Heh. Dey know I'd never hurt y' purposely, _chére. _Dey'd be fools not t'."

"But _why? _Why do they know tha'? _How _do they know tha'? I really don't think ya have a trust-me certificate on y're person."

He smiles, and finally meets her eyes. "Y' never were very good at lettin' t'ings go, girl, were y'? S'pose dat's a good t'ing t'ough, neh? Helped bond us, in a way."

She releases his hand and turns away. "Ya haven't answered mah question. Ya promised ya would. Or did ya forget?"

He sighs. "_Chére, _I... _chére, _look at me."

"Why?" she asked bitterly. "So ya can lie and ignore me some more? No thanks, Ah think the seat is more int'restin'."

"C'mon, look I... " He is interrupted by the pilots sudden intrusion:

**"Sir, we're approachin' our destination'. You an' de lady shoul' t' buckle up." **

His worried face breaks into a smile. She glances back at him again and is held by the joy on his face. "Buckle in, _chére, _an' look outside."

With some effort and a little help from him, she is safely buckled. "Look," he repeats.

She does.

The sight that meets her makes her gasp and press closer to the window. A city, far larger than anything she has imagined before. It sprawls near the ocean, and seems to nearly give off a glow in the dawn lighting.

"Where are we?" she breathed.

"We're in our city, _chére. _N'Awlins."

* * *

So... how many of you thought 'home' meant something else? You know who you are.

Wasn't this chapter _much _longer than the last one? I should say so.

I think that's all I have to say except a nice, good ol' shout-out:

**evolutionstripes: **I really don't care what you said. I loved the chapter. It had all those great things that make it so... you! You're an _excellent _writer, and I'm gonna hafta put one between your eyes if I have to keep reminding you that.

So that's about it, except R&R! You know I lurve reviews.

E.V.A.N.


	4. House

January 18, 2006

Why does everyone keep assuming Rogue has amnesia? Did I ever _say _Rogue has amnesia? Did I ever _imply_ it? Well, maybe just a little. Food for your thoughts...

Oh, and thank RogueRobin this chapter got out today. Her review got me guility writing.

Enjoy.

* * *

She sits uncomfortably as the man who he sent to take care of her -- or guard her, which she is half-suspecting -- while _he_ speaks to... she doesn't know. He didn't tell her. But he isn't back yet, and she feels worry creep over her as the minutes tick.

The man who watches over her often flickers his gaze to her nervously, when he thinks she is not looking. She laughs to herself, suddenly reminded of the precarious workers, always nervously twitching around her, ordering her to do something one moment, then begging for her compliance the next. She glances to him and he immediately asks her if she requires assistance.

"No... no, thank ya," she responds, almost timidly. He turns away again, and she is unsure whether she saw a trace of disappointment in his eyes. "But... " he whips back to look at her, and she flinches.

"Yes, _milady_?" _Lady? _she thought, mystified. _Ah'll ask him later, _she decided.

"Ah was wonderin'," she asked tentatively. He nodded his encouragement. "Who-- who's... " she loses her nerve. This big man makes her nervous. His hands alone look capable of crushing her skull. She shudders. This entire _place _makes her nervous. It is filled with bustling people, who grow oddly silent in her presence. Many beautiful things she has never seen before are within arms reach, dazzling her. When she asked her savior who owns such things, he laughs and says they're hers. They're his to, but more importantly, they're hers.

She wonders at this. _Hers... ? _She _owns _something. She never has before. Not even her the clothes she wore at home--

No. Not home. That wasn't home. _This_ is home. This big place, where she owns and people call her "lady" is home. Her new, colossal home. Or perhaps old home? Suddenly pride sweeps her. _Her _home. She thinks back to her savior, with his burning eyes; just for her. _They're _home. A tiny grin cracks her face.

"_Madame?" _The guard asks. "Were y' askin' me somet'in'?"

Her smile fades abruptly and she remembers where she is. This might be her home, but she knows nothing of it.

"Yes-- yes. I was gonna ask... " she trails of, unsure. She swallows, and prepares herself. "Give me a tour please? Ah want ta see the rest of this-- _mah _house."

The guard opens and shuts his mouth. She suspects he does not know what to say. Studying him carefully, she realizes he is wondering whether he is allowed to. She knows she is influential here. That much she was sure of. If this is her home, than shouldn't she be allowed to see it? "Ah'd lahke ta see mah house now... " She searches for a name.

"Beauvais, _madame," _he supplies helpfully.

She nods. "Beauvais, then. Ah'd lahke ta see mah house, now, Beauvais," she repeats. She orders. She understands that if he obeys, she is equal in power here to her... husband. Then she will know whether she belongs in this house that may be her home.

Beauvais nods smartly. "I'd be honored t', _Dame_." He leads the way.

* * *

Two language notes: _dame _and _milady _are really French (also English) words meaning "lady", as in the honorific form. _Madame _is actually less formal than the other two. There's a reason I did that. _Dame _is the most formal (I believe), and is actually the medieval term used for it. Which signifies... _something._

You did learn a couple things this chapter, I swear. You just had to pick them up.

Read and review. It helps quicken the writing process.

E.V.A.N. B.


End file.
